


Learning and Living

by Dana



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Domesticity, Established Relationship, M/M, post-whump fluff/angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-22
Updated: 2015-01-22
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:32:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/pseuds/Dana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's another one of those days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning and Living

**Author's Note:**

> Birthday present (originally posted on the **lifein1973** LJ community January 22nd, 2015) for **little_cello**. ♥♥♥
> 
> OTP fluff with post-whump.

The little light above the sink had been enough for Sam to work by, unobtrusive enough but giving him easy access to the kitchen. When the overhead lights flip on, he knows he's been caught. 'Bollocks,' he mutters, eyeing the unopened tin of pineapples on the worktop. He gives what he hopes is a discreet push to the side. Given his current state, right arm encased in a plaster, the whole of it tucked securely into a sling, he couldn't have done a very good job. He's very rarely felt this awkward.

Didn't really want tinned pineapple, but good luck finding the stuff fresh. The thought makes his eyes burn, which seems to be a childish insult added to an already obnoxious injury. He takes a deep breath, blows it out slowly. Right – enough of that.

'What's this?' Gene's voice is gruff from sleep – he must have just woken up. He doesn't appear to think that Sam's done anything suspicious, so maybe – just this once – luck's on his side.

Sam turns about, leans back against the worktop. 'Nothing. Was getting myself a glass of water.'

Gene rolls his eyes. 'Then that means it's something, Einstein.'

Sam shrugs in reply, almost leaves it at that. 'No reason for you to get up.'

Gene's face hardly gives his thoughts away, his feelings, but for a moment – just one moment – it slips up, his expression softening. It's been a shit day at the end of a shit week, and the subtle shift warms Sam's heart, tightens his chest.

'Missed you. Bed was cold.'

Sam smiles, pushes away from the counter. 'Let me just get that glass of water then.'

Gene starts to turn to the side, to fetch him a cup down from the cupboard, only he stops with one arm outstretched, looking back over Sam's shoulder. 'What's that?'

Oh shit – he'd forgot the bloody pineapple. 'Felt like having yourself a snack? Don't tell me, you being the one armed wonder, you couldn't get the sodding can open, could you?'

Right, and right again – he needs to take his painkillers, and he knows it's not smart to do that on an empty stomach. The most important thing had been him tackling the trial of the tin on his own, but he's very clearly failed that completely. What had previously been a burning in his eyes has him dashing sudden tears: clearly he'd not done a good enough job of trying to hide the evidence of his late night foray. He feels useless, absolutely useless, the broken arm, how he's been no help whatsoever – not at work, and not at home – and Gene's words, not any meaner than his norm, hit him with all the dizzying intensity of a pair of well-placed punches.

The last time he'd broken his arm – which would have been the first time, six years from now, and twenty-seven behind – he'd had his mum there to look after him, and the one thing she'd most certainly not made him feel about the entire was useless. She'd helped him, but she'd also let him help himself, and she'd never spoken an unkind word. But that was then, and this is _now_ , and Gene –

Gene's eyes widen, marginally so. It had been very noticeable, him wiping the tears from his eyes. First, Gene looks surprised, and then in turn, a little bit annoyed. 'Oh bloody hell, you sodding girl – wasn't trying to be mean.' He pauses, seems to consider his words, shuffles closer by a few steps. 'I can be an insensitive prick when I put my mind to it. Look, get your drink. Let the Gene Genie deal with the tin.'

Sam nods, embarrassed on top of everything else, because he couldn't have acted more childish if he'd tried. They switch positions, Gene taking up his spot beside the sink, Sam shuffling over to the cupboard that had been left ajar. He doesn't really feel up to eating anything now, but if Gene's going to exert effort on it then he knows he needs to act like he at least appreciates the gesture.

Because who is he kidding? He does.

He closes the cupboard once he's claimed his empty cup, sets it on the worktop. Sighing, Sam shakes his head, tries to act more like Gene, do what his mum always told him to do: be a big man, no tears. Hide all those bad feelings away.

Gene's hand settles down on his good shoulder, Sam startling at the touch. He jerks his head to the side, hesitates uncertainly when he sees Gene's frown. He's not upset, well, at least he's not angry with Sam. That much is clear. They've lived out of each others pockets for years now, and Sam's so much better at reading the subtle nuances of Gene Hunt's many frowns.

'Sorry.'

Sam blinks, then nods. 'No need to apologise, Guv – I mean, I am an invalid right now, that tin of pineapples was clearly too much for me to handle. Thanks for opening it for me.' He smiles, hopes it doesn't seem too forced.

The way Gene's frown deepens, his luck only covers so much – it must have. 'Said I'm sorry, Sam – I've been an arse, and I... Just be a good boy for once and accept my apology, please?'

'And really – '

He's grimacing now, oh, that's not good. 'I was in the wrong – you didn't deserve it, my lashing out. You didn't even ask to get your arm broken in the first place, and if you had... well, you are a bit cracked, but you're not that masochistic.' At least he's not having this conversation with Annie, she'd definitely call him on it – it surprises him that Gene would.

Just like before, his expression softens, and this time, it steals Sam's breath away, makes him forget their rough patches, the aspects of their relationship that will never run completely smooth. Leaves him feeling blessed, though he's still very tired, and irritated beyond his bounds – a lot like normal, then. The whole of this bloody awful week, fit perfectly into one bad mood.

Gene scowls, opens his mouth, shuts it, then tries again. 'I'm sorry, Sam. I've been a git. No good at any of this, you know that, don't you?'

'I'm starting to think you never will be.' That was a low blow, even Sam can admit that – but again, shit day, and at the end of a shit week, what else could Gene have expected him to say? It's been like this for years. Will it be like this forever? Sam's eyes are itchy, even the insides of his bones feel the same way. He's tired and he hurts and he just wishes Gene could just try to _understand_.

Is Sam just trying to be an extra obstinate pain in the arse, because what more could Gene possibly be trying to do, other than just that?

Gene winces, looks like he'd been hit – Sam's familiar enough with that certain expression, they do still get in the odd punch up, some habits too hard for them to give up on completely. Gene had him feeling that same way not too long ago, after all. 'Right, I had that one coming to me.' He searches Sam's face, reaches up to caress his cheek, and Sam knows he could have jerked away, though he chooses otherwise.

Gene's hand is warm, and Sam sighs softly, leans into his touch, the steady weight of it. He doesn't know why he's sometimes so hard on the man, he does really try – he's supported Sam through so much, Sam's not blind.

Gene clears his throat. 'I'm sorry.'

Closing his eyes, Sam ponders whether it's worth it, pushing it until they have a proper fight – he can do a lot of shouting, but not much more than that. His right arm, hanging heavily in its sling, reminds him of that. Anyhow, he really is tired. Maybe he's too tired to fight.

He kisses the palm that's so near to his mouth, gaze flickering up to meet Gene's. 'Me too.'

Gene huffs out an annoyed sigh, gives a quick shake of his head. 'None of that – '

Now it's Sam's turn to frown. 'No, I really am – I've been absolutely useless, getting my arm broken in the first place, and I... and I really need to look out for myself better. It's not your responsibility to keep me out of mischief.' It's also not his responsibility to make sure fleeing suspects don't slam heavy doors on his arm, but it hardly seems pertinent of Sam to put it that way. It would be another low blow, one more that Gene wouldn't deserve.

'Won't stop me from trying,' he mutters, low, and a smile twitches onto Sam's lips.

That's the man he loves, so stubbornly, and wonderfully, obtuse. 'I know.'

'Right, well.' Gene blinks, lips pursing – he looks a little guilty, and a whole lot of perplexed. He pushes his fingers back into Sam's hair, smooths down the curve of his neck, leans in and plants an abrupt kiss on Sam's lips. 'Guess that's it then. Apology accepted.'

Sam smiles, and it feels better than it should. He shakes his head, pushes them both into another kiss, and he holds onto Gene with his one good hand, not letting him slip away. This kiss needs to mean something, needs to speak more than any words – they'd done a good deal of talking already. This kiss? Needs to linger.

And it does.

Sam groans, light-headed when Gene finally lets his mouth go. He's still smiling, and Gene's absolutely beaming back at him, bright and beautiful. One more time, he steals Sam's breath away. He's very good at that, isn't he? It's been like this for years. Will it be like this forever?

Hopefully, yes.

'Well?'

He nods, happily delirious – could just be the creeping pain, finally catching up with him. 'Apology accepted.'

'Good – let me plate up this fruit for you, you bloody fruit. Time for your pills?'

Sam nods, Gene pulling away. He turns away and moves about the kitchen with a steady sort of determination, acts like he's boss of the place the way he acts like he acts like the boss of everything else, and at this rate, Sam's never going to stop smiling, not ever. How he manages to look so magnificent, and effective, in his striped pyjamas, Sam's sure he'll never know. Doesn't stop him from appreciating it all the more.

He turns a sideways glance on Sam. 'Go on then, take your seat, Gladys – I'll fetch your medicine, don't try and do everything all at once.' There's fondness in his words, deep and meaningful, sweetness to soften the sting. Sam sighs and shakes his head, grabs his empty glass and goes about filling it at the tap. Maybe Gene won't ever be as good at this as he could be, if he were some other person, if this were some other time, though he's better at it than he gives himself credit for. Than either of them do.

He's at the table when Gene returns, his plate and his glass at hand. Gene drops two pills into the palm of his hand, stoops down to kiss him on the cheek.

'All better?'

He twists about in his seat, reaches up with his good arm to loop it about Gene's neck, pull him down to Sam's level. 'All the time.'

Gene's expression clouds with his confusion. 'Guess I couldn't ask for more.' He could, but that would just be greedy of him, greedy of them both. 'Eat your snack, swallow your pills down – bed's still cold, think it could do with some warming up, don't you?'

He eases up out of Sam's grip, drops down into his own chair. Sam grins, picks up a piece of pineapple and pauses before popping it into his mouth, watching as Gene plucks a piece of the stuff up off the plate and sniffs at it, face creasing with disgust.

'You don't know what you're missing.'

'Just have to trust you on that one, Sammy-boy.'

He knows it won't taste as good as the fresh stuff, but he also knows he'll still enjoy it. It gives him a moment of pause: maybe Gene won't ever outmatch his mum when it comes to certain things, but Sam doesn't really want that from him. He's happy that Gene's who he is, bumps and all.

'You gonna eat that or are you just going to keep making doe-eyes at it?'

Sam gives a little laugh, takes a bite of his pineapple. Life lessons from tinned fruit? It really has been a strange sort of week.


End file.
